


We Belong

by greenjello94



Series: It Was Always Meant To Be [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Sherlock, Depressed John, Drugs bust, M/M, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, New Relationship, Past Abuse, Past Drug Use, Post-A Study In Pink, Sequel, Sherlock AU, Therapy, Work In Progress, a case, john is troubled, pre everything else, sherlock is unsure, slight graphic depictions of death, sort of established relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-04 17:02:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3074951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenjello94/pseuds/greenjello94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After finishing two months in a rehab facility for a suicide attempt , John Watson's life turns upside down when he moves in with Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Transition

**Author's Note:**

> This is the long overdue sequel for Meant To Be. It is a work in progress, but I do have a few chapters already completed.

John followed Sherlock up the seventeen steps into 221B. Upon entering the new flat, he looked around, noticing the flat looked a bit messy, but still welcoming.

            “Well…this is it…pretty much.” Sherlock said, nervousness underlining his tone. It’s a bit messy-“

            “Its great-perfect, Sherlock really.” John replied, smiling at Sherlock, who blushed slightly.

            “Mhm…great…uh…the bedroom is just through there,” He said, pointing down the small hallway to the left of the kitchen. “And the bathroom attaches to it. I’ll have my brother move your belongings from your old flat here tomorrow morning.”

            “Great. Yeah...this is lovely.” John answered, setting his bag full of some clothes and a book down onto the table. He then walked over to the armchair that sat across from a more squared one.

Silence followed, but it wasn’t as awkward as it should’ve been. At least for John. He was comfortable for once in a very long time but Sherlock felt tension and he didn’t understand why.

* * *

John emerged from the bathroom that night and ran straight into Sherlock.

            “Oof, sorry.” he said, looking up.

            “It’s fine…er…did you want to sleep in…my bedroom...I…do have a spare bedroom upstairs if…”

            “Yours should be fine,” he replied, smiling. Sherlock smiled back, relief evident on his face.

John made his way into the bedroom but when he got into the bed, Sherlock remained by the door.

            “You okay?”

            “John…you should know…I don’t sleep….regularly. I only need a couple hours, four maybe five at the most so…-“

            “That’s okay. You can just join me…when you’re tired.” John said, understanding written all over his face. “So…I’ll see you tomorrow morning then?”

            “Yes. Goodnight John.”

            “Goodnight Sherlock.”

* * *

Sherlock spent the next 3 hours at the table in the kitchen working on an experiment that he was slowly losing interest in. After ruling this experiment tedious, Sherlock began cleaning things up silently. _John wouldn’t want a messy kitchen_. He thought.  It was when he was placing the petri dishes into the sink when he heard indistinct noises coming from the bedroom. He walked to the door, unsure what to do, but when he heard sudden movement followed by a thump on the floor and a whimper did Sherlock hastily open the door. It was pitch black and so he turned on the light to find the bed’s sheets disarrayed and John on the floor at the foot of the bed, his head resting on his knees, his back against the bed. Sherlock walked towards John, who had let out a shaky breath.

            “John?”

John hadn’t realised that Sherlock was in the room and so at the sound of his voice from the front of the room startled him, causing him to hiccup and looked behind his shoulder. He quickly turned away but Sherlock saw his face; his eyes were red from rubbing them, his cheeks and nose colored red and were glistening in the mellow light of the lamp on the bedside table. He was shaking slightly but Sherlock crept further and when he was next to John, he knelt down and waited for John to be comfortable in talking. It was awhile, but John finally got his breathing under control, the tears no longer coming.

            “I’m sorry.”

            “You have nothing to be sorry for John.”

John’s breath caught, and he let out a rather shaky breath. He kept his eyes closed while he spoke. “I’m sorry about the bed.”

Sherlock didn’t respond, but was confused and he looked at the bed. It took him longer than he would admit, but when he did notice the slight dampness in the sheets and the slight acidic smell did he realize what had happened and John must’ve realized when he figured it out for he placed his forehead onto his knees and let out a muffled sound-something between a whimper and a hiccup.

Sherlock didn’t know if there was a right way to handle this situation but he hoped that John would accept his attempt. Sherlock stood up and held out a hand for John, who had glanced up at the sudden movement. He saw the hand and cautiously took it, pulling himself up. Sherlock then pulled him into a hug. John was caught off guard at first but once he was pressed into Sherlock’s chest, the closeness and comfort brought back the tears and he clutched at Sherlock’s shoulders has he let it out. It didn’t take long and when Sherlock believed him to be done, he slowly loosened the hug and led John to the bathroom.

Sherlock turned on the shower and cupped John’s face as it was warming up.

“Nightmare?”

John, clearly worn out by the emotional ride he just went through, simply nodded, not looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock then went back to room, collecting some fresh pajamas for John and placed them on top the sink. Upon entering the bathroom, John was already in the shower.

“You doing okay John?”

John took a few seconds but responded with a cracked voice. “Yeah.”

Sherlock collected John’s soiled clothes and the sheets and headed to the washer, placing them inside. When he went back up stairs, the shower was turned off. He walked past the bathroom and remade the bed with clean sheets from the hall closet.

When John walked into the bedroom, Sherlock noticed he still didn’t look right. He was paler, slightly shivering (though that could be from coming out of a hot shower into the cold air), and he was keeping his gaze away from Sherlock’s.

            “John?”

John didn’t respond, but sat on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped together tightly, his eyes still on the floor, his jaw clenching.

Sherlock went and sat next to him, worry and fear etching in his mind.

“John?”

John let out a shaky breath, and brought his face to his hands, taking in deep breaths. Sherlock pulled him to the side, so that his head was resting on his Sherlock’s shoulder. He found this position a bit uncomfortable but it seemed to be helping John, whose breathing was beginning to slow down and his face, once scrunched up, was relaxing, and it wasn’t until his breathing completely quiet did Sherlock realize he had fallen asleep. Sherlock gently pulled John so that he was lying on his side on the bed, his head on Sherlock’s chest, his hand clutching Sherlock’s t-shirt. Sherlock wasn’t really that tired, but the peacefulness got to him and before he knew it, he was drifting off.

 


	2. Slow Down

 

John woke up to a warmth pressing against his cheek. He kept his eyes shut but started taking in everything he was feeling. His throat, for one, was dry, and his eyes felt raw. He realised he was on his side, for his left arm was underneath something solid and his right was clutching something soft and warm. Whatever his head was on was hard, almost bony and when he cracked open his eyes he realised he was sleeping on Sherlock, his head resting on Sherlock’s chest. He blinked against the sunlight streaming in through the window, and unclenched his hand that was on Sherlock’s stomach.

Stretching, John reluctantly pulled away from Sherlock. He wanted to remain where he was, asleep, but his stomach was painfully empty, and his appetite seemed to be returning. He made his way out of the room, down the hallway, and into the kitchen. It was reasonably clean, but half of the table was cluttered with a microscope, some petri dishes, other scientific things and papers. He began making some tea and toast when he heard a rustle, and looked over his shoulder to see Sherlock enter the kitchen.

Awkward silence would’ve ensued if Sherlock hadn’t spoken.

“How are you feeling?”

John looked away, embarrassed from the events of last night, but nodded, quietly responding, “Fine…I feel fine…”

“Do you want to...talk...?”

“No. It… It was just a nightmare…they’re all the same, about the war…about…” He couldn’t finish but was grateful Sherlock didn’t press him to continue. Instead, he felt a hand on his shoulder. They stood in silence for a bit, and then Sherlock muttered something about showering and John was left alone.

* * *

John was seated in the armchair with a cup of tea when Sherlock walked in, dressed in his usual clothing. He was pulling on his coat when he turned to John.

“Did…I mean…would you like to join me on a case? It could be interesting…Lestrade wants me to take a look and I thought maybe…unless you don’t want to then I understand…”

“Um…I would love to Sherlock…but I don’t think that’s a good idea…my therapist said to start easy…she didn’t think that me moving in was a good idea but my progress was good and so…I think I should start slow with the newness of all this…” John answered quietly.

“…Right, okay, that’s fine…I’ll just see you…later.” Sherlock said, and after a brief glance at John, he was gone, and John was left alone in the new flat.

John stayed seated, glancing around the flat. It felt warm, but the warmth didn’t comfort him. He felt too many things at once, causing him to feel overwhelmed the most, and within only a few minutes, John got up quickly and practically ran to the bathroom, emptying his stomach. After a few dry heaves, John stood in front of the mirror and cleaned his mouth, followed by a glass of water. The realization of what happened hit him, and he bowed his head in shame, his eyes stinging. After a few minutes, he took a deep breath and pulled out the pill bottle he was prescribed. They said to take one every morning, and so he did.

He walked out of the bathroom, and headed back to the bedroom. It only took a few minutes for him to fall asleep.

* * *

John woke up with a start. His cheek was stinging, and there was a heavy weight pressing into his side. Blinking away the dizziness and blurriness, John looked in front of him to see Sherlock leaning over him, panic written across his face.

“Sh-sherlock?” John slurred, rubbing his eyes. “Whassthematter?”

“John…” Sherlock started, his voice cracking.

“Sherlock…” John said quietly, his voice still rough with sleep.

“I…I thought you were…” He looked away from John for a moment and then back at John, his face shifting, the panic disappearing. “Why-why were you sleeping?”

“I…” John started, but he remembered feeling bored and overwhelmed, and he didn’t want to appear weak in front of Sherlock, so he looked away before speaking again. “I…I was tired.”

“No you weren’t. You-you had a nightmare last night and wouldn’t want to go to sleep. Why John? Tell me.”

John didn’t respond, but kept his gaze lowered, his eyes betraying him and beginning to fill with tears. He didn’t want to cry in front of Sherlock and tried to hold them back, but then Sherlock placed his hand along his jaw, lifting his head up so they were face to face. The look of genuine worry and unease were written on Sherlock’s face, but it was all buried by the sudden distress that became evident when he noticed John’s eyes.

“John…”

“Sherlock…please…” John started, but couldn’t finish for he hiccupped, and the tears just began streaming down, his breathing turning ragged.

“I’m-I’m sor-(hic)-ry Sh-Sherlock…”

“John…I…I don’t know what to do.”

John looked up startled by this. Sherlock was looking away from him, his right hand still on John’s jaw, the other on the bed, clutching the sheets.

“You…”

“I’m sorry John, I don’t know what to do. I was going to tell you but there was never a good time…and I never usually wait for a good time to say anything but I knew you needed time…to get used to me….and I didn’t want to scare you off-“

“Scare me off?” John repeated, his voice cracking.  

“John, I…I’ve never…been in a relationship like this before…and I…I have come to realise that when I was with you for the past two months alone I was relaxed, comfortable, happy…but when I’m not with you I am rude, obnoxious and I found that you wouldn’t want to be with someone like me.”

“Sherlock? I…I want to be with you. You have made me feel much happier, its just overwhelming.”

“Overwhelming?”

“Yeah, I…everything is new right now, and I-I think I’m just scared too.”

“Scared too” Sherlock repeated. “I-I’m not scared John” he said, scoffing at the idea that _he_ could be scared.

“Yes you are.”

Sherlock looked at John, who, despite his eyes being raw and still wet, and his nose runny, and frankly looking like a mess, was smiling.

“Why are you smiling?”

John smiled slightly more. “Because we’re idiots. We’ve only known each other for two months and yes they were very complicated months and we did spend almost every minute together in a rehab center and we do have this…well I ‘d like to think we have this connection, but we forgot to talk about it. You just asked me to move in with you when I said I was being discharged. We didn’t even talk about it or how it’ll affect me, the new change in…everything. We just did it. And I’m glad we did Sherlock. But I think we need to slow down….”

Sherlock didn’t answer right away. “Slow down?” He eventually asked.

John nodded, his eyes glistening. “Could you…I mean…I know you take cases seriously and you crave them…but could you-” He stopped, his breathing growing ragged. “Could you stay….with me instead? I…I don’t think I’m ready to tag along and when you left this morning I felt…unease.” He stopped, looking down only for Sherlock to steer his head back up.

“John…I will stay with you. But you should know I don’t sleep every night. And I play the violin when I’m thinking. Sometimes I don’t talk for days on end. But I will stay with you. Would that alright?

John nodded, his throat tight, his eyes letting out the last few tears. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Sherlock, who stiffened at first, but then relaxed and wrapped his arms around John’s waist.

As John rested against Sherlock, Sherlock said quietly, “Mycroft’s men stopped by with the rest of your belongings. We could…I mean I could help you unpack tomorrow if you want?”

John nodded, tightening his grip on Sherlock’s shirt, falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters will be a bit short, but I will try to make them long. Apologies for such "interesting" chapter titles 
> 
> And I will editing/adding tags along the way as I develop the story more 
> 
> : )


	3. Invasion

John woke up the next morning with a headache and a painfully empty stomach. The too familiar emotions sent panic throughout him, causing him to think for a second that everything that had happened was a dream. The panic subsided as quickly as it appeared when the sound of soft music was heard from the living room. He got up slowly, letting the dizziness drift away before he fully got up and strolled into the bathroom. After washing his face and brushing his teeth, he went back to the bedroom, pulling out clean clothes from his duffel bag he had yet to unpack.

After he was dressed, John made his way to the kitchen. Sherlock was still standing in front of the windows, softly playing his violin. John smiled at the peacefulness as he made his tea.

Sherlock, having finished the song and upon hearing the kettle, placed his violin down and walked towards John. He placed his hand on John’s shoulder, squeezing it and in return, John turned, two cups of tea in his hands, with a gentle smile on his face.

“Good morning.” John said, handing Sherlock his tea.

“Good morning John. What did you want to do today?” Sherlock asked, not completely sure if that’s what he should be asking.

“I still need to unpack…um…”

“Oh right, I can help you with that. I have a sock index so I’ll need to reorganize everything to make room for your things. Come on.” Sherlock said, making his way towards his-their bedroom. John followed.

* * *

            After unpacking John’s things, the two sat on the sofa, John half watching the telly and Sherlock not at all. Sherlock was lying down, his head in John’s lap, which allowed John to place his right hand in his bed of curls, slightly stroking them, making random patterns. The ringing of a phone, which startled John, interrupted the peacefulness. Sherlock practically leapt from the sofa to retrieve the phone out of habit and it wasn’t until he turned back around, phone in hand, did he realise what had happened. John was still sitting, but he was breathing faster, his eyes closed tightly, his left hand clutching the arm of the sofa.

            “John…?”

            “I’m fine.” He snapped, keeping his eyes shut.

            Sherlock remained silent, but sat back down next to John. He observed him, noticing his breathing was still fast, his hands and jaw clenching.

            “John-”

            “I said I’m fine Sherlock!” John snapped louder, leaping from the sofa and stalking off to the bedroom. Sherlock followed hastily behind, but wasn’t quick enough, for John slammed the bedroom in his face, nearly hitting him in the nose. Sherlock remained right in front of the door, placing his ear to the door. All he heard was the slight sound of John lying down on the bed. He removed his ear, and looked back at his phone. It was a text from Lestrade, practically begging him to assist him on a puzzling case. He sighed. The temptation was severe, but it would do nothing good for John if he were to leave him so he sent Lestrade a text saying he was busy. He looked back at the door, as if expecting it to move but it didn’t nor did he hear any other sounds coming from the bedroom. He sighed again, and walked back to the living room, retrieving his violin and started to play soft music that would hopefully lure John back out.

* * *

            John lied on the bed. His breathing had normalized, but he was incredibly embarrassed. The ringing of the phone was loud and abrupt, startling him, but it was the loss of contact of Sherlock that upset him and he didn’t understand why. He had been in the bedroom now for over ten minutes and the sounds of the violin from the living room were alluring. He wanted to go back to Sherlock, but he was embarrassed and he had no idea how to handle any of this. It had been years since he was in a serious- _was this serious_?-relationship and he hadn’t been with a man since university. He didn’t know Sherlock as well as he should, but the man was an enigma; somehow not only talking him down from a ledge but also actually taking an interest in him and no one’s done that in too long of a time. He took a deep breath, but any worries blooming in his mind are interrupted by a soft knock at the door.

            “John?” Sherlock asks behind the door.

            John clears his throat, but doesn’t open the door. “Yes?”

            “I’m just—We’re out of milk…and I know you like milk in your tea. So I’m just going to the store. I won’t be long.”

            “Yeah, alright.” John answered. He would’ve offered going instead—fresh air could do him good—but he had no idea where the closest store was from here. He listened as Sherlock’s footsteps slowly disappeared, followed by the soft click of the door closing. John took a louder deep breath. He might as well get a few minutes of sleep; he planned on having a talk with Sherlock about their relationship.

                                                                        * * *

John woke with a start; he had been sleeping relatively peacefully only for the loud bang of the door leading to the hallway to bring him to complete alertness. He got up quickly, grabbing his cane, holding it up over his shoulder as he easily made his way through the bathroom and out into the hallway. He peaked from the bathroom, not seeing anything for it was late evening, the sun having already gone down, and no lights were on. He heard whispering from the sitting room and made his way along the wall very quickly but quietly. He saw a shadowed figure peering at the kitchen table and knew he had to do something. With a burst of adrenaline, John stalked out of the shadows, bringing his cane down hard onto the intruder’s back. He then swung again, smacking the stranger in the face, emitting a choked sob from the man, as more voices appeared from the front of the flat.

            “What the hell is going on?!” A woman’s voice appeared behind John, who swung around, stumbling backwards. He placed his hand on the wall, finding the light switch. After turning the lights on, John could make out the intruders. There were at least six of them, including the scrawny one lying on the kitchen floor clutching his bleeding nose. The woman was a slim woman of color, her cheeks flushed.

            “What-who are you?” John shouted, clutching his cane in front of him.

            “We’re the police. Who the hell are you?”  The woman answered.

            “I-I live here…why…shouldn’t you have a warrant before you break into somebody’s flat?”

            “Lestrade!” The woman called instead of replying. Soon after her shout, a familiar man appeared behind her.

            “What is it Donavan?” The man named Lestrade said, appearing exhausted behind her.

            The woman—Donavan presumably—didn’t respond, but tilted her head towards John.

            “Oh—hello, uh I’m Detective Inspector Lestrade, this is my team,” Lestrade said, “And you are—?”

            “John—John Watson. I live with Sherlock Holmes.”

            At the sound of that, Lestrade’s team all let out noises, muttering to themselves as Donavan scoffed. “Why?” She said.

            John ignored her. “No offense, Detective Inspector, but aren’t you supposed to have a warrant before you search a person’s flat?” He said, standing up straight.

            “Oh, well…Sherlock and I have some sort of deal. He helps on cases, and on orders from his brother, I make sure he doesn’t relapse, or have any drugs on his person.”

            Now it was John’s turn to scoff. “Drugs?” 

            “Er…you should talk to Sherlock about that.”

            “What kind of person moves in with somebody they barely know?” Donavan said, sneering at John. 

            John ignored her again. He fidgeted slightly, before he spoke again. “Do-er-Do you have to search the whole flat? I mean, shouldn’t you wait for Sherlock? I don’t know if he would like this happening if hes not here.”

Lestrade looked at John oddly, but whatever he was going to say was interrupted by the slamming of the door, footsteps pounding the stairs as a disgruntled Sherlock entered the flat.

            “Lestrade!?” Sherlock shouted, angry running though his veins.

            “Oi! Sherlock, hello.” Lestrade said.

            “What the hell Lestrade?!?”

            “Well you weren’t answering any of my texts, not even to rate any of the cases so I believed the worst, thought you were back to your old habits, and so here we are.”

            “I was busy.” Sherlock snapped, pacing across the room, his coat swaying behind him. His eyes landed on John, and his face softened only a fraction as he swept towards John, stepping over the man on the floor.

            “You alright?” He asked softly.

            John nodded, and was about to respond when a thrilled sound came from the bedroom.

            Everyone turned to where the sound came from, seeing a member of forensics walk out, camera around his neck, and a gloved hand holding a small bag of white powder.

            “Look what we have here.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait, but here you go. I've now published everything I've written so it may take a bit longer in between updating. 
> 
>  
> 
> Check me out on tumblr : ) heavenlymindpalace.tumblr.com


	4. Confrontation

John paced back and forth in the sitting room, clenching his fist as he tried to think of what to do. Sherlock had been taken by Lestrade, under arrest for possession of an illegal drug-cocaine they suspected- and John had no idea, _no idea_ that Sherlock was – _is?-_ a drug addict. His head was hurting, his stomach still empty, his body exhausted but his mind buzzing with energy. He couldn’t sit still, or divert his attention to anything, so he paced.

It was well into late at night when slow heavy footsteps came from the stairwell.

John spun around, facing the doorway, waiting. Sherlock made his way into the sitting room, his face pale, his eyes twinkling with raw emotion, his clothes rumpled.

They stood in silence facing each other, John’s eyes focusing on the floor, though he could feel the knife of Sherlock’s stare on him. He waited, waited for Sherlock to speak because god knew he wasn’t going to, not first.

Finally, the silence was broken.

“Explain.” Sherlock snapped, his voice quivering with anger and betrayal.

John didn’t look up, nor answered Sherlock whose anger only increased.

“Explain John! Because I damn well deserve an explanation!”

John’s face flushed with embarrassment but kept silent for a moment, trying desperately to think of an explanation.

John cleared his throat finally, and spoke, his voice cracking.

“Sherlock, I—”

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Sherlock asked, his voice suddenly low and calm.

John swallowed tightly. “I just needed some money.”

Sherlock was taken aback.  “Why on earth—why would you go to selling drugs? You’re a doctor—.”

John shuffled his feet. “I was desperate. You know that. Besides, you never told me—.”

“Oh that was ages ago, it hardly matters—.”

“It matters to me!” John snapped.

Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows in disbelief. “Why should it? We barely know each other!”

John inhaled sharply. Sherlock, who had started shuffling in place, froze for a second, before hesitantly meeting John’s avoiding gaze.

“John—.”

“No, you’re right.” He shrugged. “We don’t know each other…” John trailed off, and took a step back. He unraveled his fists once before clenching them in a tight ball and sat down at the table. Sherlock remained standing, looking down at him and breathing deeply.

“I should have told you, and I’m sorry,” John said.

Sherlock nodded. “You should have.”

“I’ll be honest, but I need you to be honest back.” John looked up and met Sherlock’s softening gaze. After a second, Sherlock nodded in agreement.

Silence devoured the room for several minutes, the both of them organizing their thoughts. Sherlock remained standing for a bit longer before he took the seat across from John at the table. John looked up at him and placed his interlocked hands in front of him on the table while Sherlock kept his in his lap.

John waited, giving Sherlock the right to speak first.

Sherlock met his steady gaze. “I started using in university, and remained using for a few years afterwards. It was just cocaine, and I’ve been clean for the past five years.”

John cringed. “If I had known,” he began slowly. “I would’ve told you—”

“You think I would have used.” Sherlock interrupted, his gaze suddenly piercing with accusation.

John minutely flinched, startled.  “No, I—it would have been tempting, so I’m sorry. I’m sorry for embarrassing you—.”

Sherlock scoffed. “I’m not embarrassed.”

John stared at him. “So then why are you upset? Is it just because I didn’t tell you? You didn’t tell me you had a drug problem—.”

“I don’t _have_ a drug problem. I’m _clean_ ,” Sherlock snapped.

“So why are you upset?”

Sherlock looked at him fiercely for a moment, then his face softened slowly, the aggravation being replaced by confusion. He furrowed his eyebrows.

“I don’t know…I don’t recognize all that I’m feeling.”

John sat back in his chair, feeling even guiltier. “I betrayed you.”

Sherlock shot his head up, the confusion increasing. “What?”

John ran his hand over his face. “That’s it. I betrayed you. That’s why you reacted that way.”

Sherlock scoffed again, however it was lighter. “Why would I feel betrayed by someone I barely know?”

John cringed again at the wording, even though they were true. He thought for a moment, carefully planning out what he wanted to say and how.

“Have you felt this way before?”

“Betrayed, not that I can recall,” Sherlock shrugged dismissively.

“Not the name, the feeling. Whatever it is you’re feeling, have you felt like that before?”

Sherlock remained silent for a moment, and then slowly relaxed. “No.”

John relaxed too. “I think its betrayal. We’ve been in each other’s company for two months, but we didn’t exactly get to know one another. We’ve never even gone out on a date.”

Sherlock grimaced. “We don’t have to do that do we?”

John chuckled lightly. “No, no, we don’t. But I think…” he trailed off, suddenly feeling like he was going in too deep. But Sherlock was looking at him, waiting and expecting him to continue. John breathed in slowly and then exhaled.

“I think we…like each other in a way—well a lot and we want this to work, but aren’t sure—shit, I um, am not making sense…” He dropped his head and looked up through his lashes only to see Sherlock still looking at him, his face softening.

“I…” Sherlock started. “Think I understand. I know what you are on the outside but need to know what you are on the inside.”

John offered a small smile. “Yeah, that.”

Sherlock relaxed in his seat and remained silent, his face concentrating in thought.

“We don’t have to talk about our feelings,” John added. “But I think it’ll help if we state what we like, and what we don’t; what we’re comfortable with and what we’re not, whenever the situation asks for it. I think—I hope, that after a couple of weeks we’ll know our way around each other and…could start with that.”

Sherlock remained unresponsive for a full minute. “Does that mean…”

John looked at him, softening his facial expression as Sherlock hesitantly met his gaze after several minutes looking at his hands in his lap.

“Erm, yes?” John insisted gently.

“Does that mean we can’t share a bed anymore?”

John let a small grin form over his face. “No, we can still share a bed. If you want,” he replied gently.

Sherlock’s lips twitched to the promise of a grin. “I do.” The grin fell and was quickly replaced by uncertainty. “Do you mind?”

John shook his head confidently. “I don’t mind.”

Sherlock allowed the grin to reform. “Good.”

“And,” John continued, “You can still go one cases. I don’t want to hold you back. That one time I just…couldn’t be alone. But you could go on cases.”

“Would you ever join me?”

“If you want me too.” John replied, smiling at Sherlock.

“I do.”

Silence took over a moment before John spoke.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I forgot I still had some from when I…”

“How long did you deal?”

“Only about a month or so. A couple of months before we met at the school-”

“School?”

“Uh, the murderous cabbie?”

“Oh right.”

“Yeah, I gave up when I _thought_ I had ran out of bags…the money I split with this small dealer, so it was enough to get by…” He trailed off, humiliated by his past.

“Its fine John, its all fine.”

“What—what did the police do?”

“Oh, I told them it was just my emergency stash, and I hadn’t used, and since I was found clean, my brother took care of it. Though I was banned from crime scenes.”

“You were _banned_?”

“For a month. But it’ll be at least a week before they start begging for my help, so no harm done.”

“I—I really am sorry Sherlock-”

“Its fine John, _I_ am just astounded that I missed this. There’s always something.” 

John then sat up. “I think its bout time for tea, don’t you? And some dinner.”

“Yes, I think it is.” Sherlock responded, a small smile forming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope everything is sounding in-character. I would like to thank my sister maeerin here on archiveofourown who helped me get out of writers block. : ) 
> 
> I hope to be updating once a week : )


	5. Trepidation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets called for an intricate case and brings John along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This case is a bit creative and will take up about 3 chapters but John will be going through some things; so don't worry, this case is not shadowing John. 
> 
> : )

**One Week Later**

John had been quietly reading a novel while sitting in his chair when Sherlock’s phone went off. The detective was sitting at the kitchen table, immersed in his experiment (something with enzymes?) and John looked over seeing Sherlock step away from his experiment, his eyes wide, listening to a rather exhausted person on the other line. Upon finishing, Sherlock said,

“We’ll be there in ten minutes.” And he was off, and the next thing John knew he was being pulled off the chair and lead to the doorway, his jacket handed to him.

“Was that Detective Inspector Lestrade?”

“Yes, a case John. I told you they couldn’t last a week.” Sherlock said cheerfully.

John, although feeling hesitant, pulled on his jacket. “What’s the case?”

“Murder, the victim was a public figure or something. Come on John. The game is on!” Sherlock responded, bouncing down the stairs.

John followed, adrenaline and uncertainty flowing through him.

* * *

John followed Sherlock through the swarm of police officers at a rather posh apartment complex. There were people with cameras being held back by a string of yellow type, though that didn’t stop them from snapping their equipment. Feeling out of place, John kept up the pace, staying right at Sherlock’s heels as he made his way into the elevator. Sherlock remained silent as the elevator took them to the 20th floor, John’s unease increasing. The bing of the elevator snapped John out of his worry, and he followed Sherlock into the flat, where they met Detective Inspector Lestrade, as other personnel were about the flat, snapping photos and documenting the crime scene.

“Inspector.” Sherlock said.

“Sherlock, good you’re here. We really need you’re help—can I help you?” Lestrade said, glancing at John.

“He’s with me.” Sherlock said before John could answer.

Lestrade looked at Sherlock. “Sherlock, I cannot have you bringing civilians into crime scenes. Especially this one, given it’s a high-profile one.”

“John is a doctor, was in the army and is perfectly capable at handling murder. Aren’t you John?”

John cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah…I’m—I’m fine.”

“See? Now come along John.” Sherlock said, pushing his way past Lestrade and walking into the bedroom, John right behind him.

Upon entering the crime scene, John had to take a deep breath, taking it all in. It was a mess, to say the least. Broken glass, other things littered the floor, the body of the woman lying amongst it. But it wasn’t that that had John’s attention. There were red words painted on the wall, above the bed.

_Cruel, Evil, Devil,_

“Victim is Emily Glenn Bass, CEO of Bass Industries.” Lestrade said. “Very, very rich. And very, very popular. Her company has done some charity work as well as improvements for the education system. She was a frequent churchgoer. Her daughter, Erica, found her.”

“Where is she?” Sherlock asked, his eyes roaming the room,

“Who?” Lestrade asked.

“The _daughter_."

“Oh, she’s with Sally, she’s very distraught Sherlock—”

“I need to talk to her.”

“Not right now Sherlock.” Lestrade snapped. “Just, what do you have?”

            Sherlock huffed in annoyance. “It’s rather simple Lestrade, even you lot couldn’t miss this. The victim was killed by a single blunt-force trauma to the head. The murder weapon is what remains of that bird over there. The apartment is luxurious, obvious—”

 “Bird?” Lestrade looked around, confused.

“Yes, that bird.” Sherlock said, pointing to the remains of a taxidermist bird, hidden under some torn blankets. “It was a hawk, stuffed and placed on the bookshelf in the hallway. The killer grabbed it and stroked Ms. Bass, killing her. The killer is someone she knew, someone against animal cruelty. This apartment is filled with animals from taxidermists and there are at least 4 animals skin rugs, and two stag heads, one in the main room, and smaller one in the hallway. Ms. Bass was a collector. The killer tried to make it look like a burglary, that’s why this place is a mess but there’s no sign of force entry. Look at her business partners, someone who knew Ms. Bass well, and would benefit from her untimely demise. Check with the daughter, she may know those her mother had disagreements with.” Sherlock finished.

“That…was amazing.” John said, a look of admiration on his face.

Sherlock looked at John, surprise on his face. “You think so?”

"Yeah, that was brilliant.”  John smiled.

Sherlock smiled back, the air in the room turning silently as the two stared at each other. They were brought back to the present with the awkward cough from the inspector.

"Great, Sherlock…We’ll work with that then…um what about the words?”

“Mhm…oh, I…don’t know…exactly.” Sherlock muttered, trying to make his way out of the bedroom, only tripping over some of the shredded blankets.

"Sherlock! Careful, this is a crime scene!” Lestrade yelled. “And what do you mean you don’t know?”

“Exactly what I said Lestrade. Other than the fact the words are adjectives describing the victim, I don’t know what other reason the killer would have in putting them their. In _red lipstick_ for that matter.” Sherlock snapped back.

“Hang on, Sherlock…” John said quietly, viewing the words.

“What is it John?”

“The words…Cruel, Evil, Devil…its like Cruella DeVil.”

“Who?” Sherlock said, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Cruella DeVil…you know?” John said, sure that even _Sherlock_ would know who she was.

“No I don’t know, so enlighten me.”

Lestrade, who was looking at the words, was now just getting it.

“Oh, I see.” He said, and then looked at Sherlock, who was more confused than ever.

“Well, I don’t, so can _someone_ enlighten me.”

“Sherlock,” John started. “Cruella DeVil is a villain from a children’s’ story, _101 Dalmatians._ She, well, she tries to kidnap the puppies for their fur.”

“Okay, so—“

“So, the killer thinks that the victim is like Cruella DeVil.” John said.

“But she didn’t kidnap any puppies!”

“No, but she did collect animals made by taxidermists as well as furs and wall décor of animals that shouldn't be hunted, like that tiger rug in the sitting room.”

“So the words mean nothing?”

“Wait, well no not exactly. I mean they do just further prove that the killer was against her because of her choices in home décor but why go to all that trouble?”

“Now that is the question.” Sherlock said, already distracted by _why_ the killer wrote those words. “Come along John.”

“Where are we going?”

“No, wait, Sherlock!” Lestrade yelled after them.

“What Lestrade. What is it?”

“I believe we have a serial killer here.”

“What makes you say that?”

“We had a case a couple of months ago, unsolved, the victim was found in her flat, with large, ragged cuts on her back. Doors locked. Black words were written along the books in her bookshelf.”

“And why didn’t you consult me?” Sherlock said, pouting.

“You weren’t home.” Lestrade said, exasperated. “We tried contacting you but you never answered, and your landlady said you were staying with a friend…”

Sherlock glanced slightly at John, who was looking at the floor.

“I see,” Sherlock answered. “Change of plans, John. We’re going to Scotland Yard."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is unfamiliar with taxidermy, its a practice that involves a dead animal (should have been already dead, but hunters do get involved by selling their killings) and the animal is arranged to look alive and is stuffed and placed sort of like a trophy or just for decoration (like a mounted stag head).


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock was currently looking through photos of the murder of Isabelle Delacour, a graduate student in animal behavioral studies. John busied himself looking through information about the victim and at the words painting on Isabella’s bookshelf.

_It’s a pity and a sin, she doesn’t quite fit in_

The victim was young, and very beautiful, and also very smart. She had just begun graduate school at 22 years old. John looked through family statements, finding nothing suggesting Isabella had any enemies. She was born in France, to a French father and an Italian mother. She was found by her friend, Garret, in the hallway with large lacerations on her back. She had been paralyzed, not killed until a single blow to the head, the only similarity to the recent case other than the words found written on her books in black paint. What could’ve caused such large, messy lacerations was unknown to John, who looked up at Sherlock, only to see the detective intently reading the case notes. John sighed, stretching his back, and pulled out the words that had been painted and tried to see if there was any similarity to the recent case.

                                                            * * *

“Any luck?” John asked. It had been over two hours since they arrived at Emily Bass’s apartment and John was exhausted. He was hungry and felt a headache coming. But he didn’t want to let Sherlock down.

Sherlock didn’t answer, but merely grunted.

 

John sighed. “I’m going to get some lunch, if that’s okay. Do you want anything?”

“Mhm, no.” Sherlock said, never taking his eyes off the file.

“Okay.” John said, and made his way out of Scotland Yard, and to a small café only a few blocks away.

It was lunchtime, so London was buzzing with people, so John took his lunch to a small bench in the park and sat quietly.

While he sat, he ran the words through his head.

_“It’s a pity and a sin, she doesn’t quite fit in.”_

These words sounds familiar but John couldn’t figure out why. He ate his sandwich on autopilot, running the words through his mind for about ten minutes.

He started humming the words; familiar with the beat they give but unsure where they come from. It wasn’t until he realized what he was humming under his breath:

“ _It’s a pity and a sin,_

_she doesn’t quite fit in,_

_very different from the rest of us,_

_she’s nothing like the rest of us,_

_different from the rest is Belle.”_

_Of course,_ John thought. _The murders are based on fairytales_. And with that, John discarded his sandwich, and made his way as quickly as possible back to Scotland Yard.

* * *

John burst through Scotland Yard, out of breath and his cheeks flushed.

“Sherlock!” He yelled, ignoring the startled officers.

Sherlock was seen with Lestrade in the conference room, Lestrade sitting at the table worn out and Sherlock standing still, staring at the white board.

“Sherlock!” John yelled again, opening the door wide and sudden, startling the detective inspector, barley receiving a reaction from Sherlock.

“Jesus, John!” Lestrade exclaimed, having nearly fallen out of his chair.

“Ah, John there you are.” Sherlock said.

“Sherlock listen to me. The words on the bookcase. It’s from a fairytale.” John sputtered out as he was catching his breath.

Sherlock turned to look at him, alarmed. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“They’re from a song. Listen,” he said, walking to the computer and typing the song into the browser.

The song played as the three in the room gathered around the computer.

“ _It’s a pity and a sin_

_She doesn’t quite fit in,_

_Very different from the rest of us_

_She’s nothing like the rest of us,_

_Different from the rest is Belle.”_

“The victim,” John started explaining once the song ended. “Her name was Isa _belle._ She was smart, and beautiful. Her wounds look like they could come from a beast. It’s just like the recent case. I think the killer—”

“Is killing those who remind him of fairytale characters.” Sherlock finished his sentence, his gaze going unfocused as he took this information in.

“Exactly. Isabelle. She was French, like the character. And Emily Bass. She collected décor made from animals. Like Cruella De Vil.”

“Oh, brilliant!” Sherlock exclaimed

* * *

It turned out really easy. Borderline idiotic. The killer was an intern who had worked for Emily Bass and despised her. He and his girlfriend, Isabelle, wanted to ruin her. But when he had devised a plan to actually kill Ms. Bass, Isabelle threatened to tell the police, so he killed her by hitting her in the head. He then scratched her back with knives. Then he killed Ms. Bass. Really idiotic Sherlock had thought. The only unique aspect was the killer’s odd obsession with Disney songs.

Once the paper work was done, Sherlock rushed John out of Scotland Yard.

“Oi! Sherlock!” John yelled as he was shoved into a cab. Sherlock remained silent, apart from barking their address at the cabbie and on the way, sat ramrod straight, tapping his fingers restlessly.

Once at Baker Street, John was practically carried into the flat and pushed against the wall once they were inside their sitting room.

“Oof, Sherlock what-”

Sherlock interrupted John but crushing their lips together. John immediately relaxed into Sherlock’s hold and he snogged back relentlessly. Their lips moved beautifully, sucking and nipping at each other.

“You were brilliant today.” Sherlock whispered against John’s lips.

“Oh fuck,” John moaned against Sherlock’s lips as Sherlock moved his right hand to John’s thigh, hitching it up. Sherlock then grinded against John, rolling his hips.

“Oh, fuck.” John’s breathing hitched at the feel of Sherlock’s clothed erection.

“Yes,” Sherlock mumbled. He started sucking John’s neck, which only caused John’s breathing to become more erratic. While he sucked, he peeled off his gloves and then began undoing John’s belt. John tensed slightly and tried to hide it but Sherlock was already moving his hands away from John’s belt.

“It’s fine,” John said.

“You tensed.”

“I-I just haven’t done this in a while.”

“We will go further when you’re ready.”

“I-alright,” John said, blushing deeply.

Sherlock hummed against his neck, before placing a soft kiss on his cheek.

John huffed in annoyance. “We don’t have to stop snogging you know.”

Sherlock hummed in amusement, and in one swift motion, he picked John up, his hands on his arse, and carried him to the sofa. They both toppled over, John underneath Sherlock. Sherlock dived down, his lips meeting John’s. They immediately began swirling their tongues together, tasting each other. 

John suddenly giggled against Sherlock’s lips.

“What’s so funny?” Sherlock whispered.

“Nothing, but you must be really hot in that coat.”

“I-I am actually. You mind?”

John shook his head, and sat up with Sherlock straddling his lap.

“Here, let me,” he said. He shucked of Sherlock coat, followed by his suit jacket.

“Better?” he asked.

“Loads.” Sherlock answered. “Can I…”

“Sure.” John said. Sherlock went slowly as he pulled off John’s jacket, followed by his jumper and the button up underneath, leaving John in a white t-shirt.

“Let me kiss you.”

John nodded, and they met in the middle, Sherlock’s hands rubbing and grasping John’s arms.

They entangled themselves on the sofa, and after a few minutes, both were so hard it was getting frustrating.

“Sherlock…” John said, suddenly nervous.

“Its alright John. We can stop.” Sherlock assured him, before sitting up. “Let me just…” He faltered, but waved a hand to his groin. John nodded, and they both got off the couch. Before Sherlock left, he placed a kiss on John’s cheek, very close to his lips. John blushed and then sat down and waited for Sherlock to come back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized i didn't want to continue with a case so i finished this one up and im sorry its weird. And I am so sorry i haven't updated in forever! I promise I will try to update more frequently. I have some idea now where to go with this so I will be updating a lot sooner now : )


	7. Chapter 7

When Sherlock returned, John had (embarrassingly) fallen asleep on the sofa. Apparently he couldn’t wait any longer and came sitting right there; his jeans wrinkled and a few tissues on the floor. Obviously running around after a serial killer and then participating in a very heated snog can make him very sleepy. Sherlock wanted to let him sleep, but knew he would rather get cleaned up first.

            “John.” Sherlock said clearly, slightly nudging John.

            “Mhm.” John wiggled his nose as Sherlock brushed it slightly.

            “John.” Sherlock said again.

            “Mhm, what Sh’lock?”

            “Don’t you want to shower now?” Sherlock said, amused.

            John blinked open his eyes, and upon realizing the state he was in, he blushed deeply and sat up. He stretched, and made his way to the bathroom, knowing full well Sherlock watched him with an amused look on his face.

* * *

In the shower, John tried not to think about Sherlock and his oh-so warm lips and the feeling of his hands along his backside. He was growing hard again by just thinking about it and he wanted to go further with Sherlock but he was nervous. He didn’t want to fuck it up but then again he really just wanted to cum with Sherlock. He turned the water to cold and after a few minutes, he was able to finish up showering.

* * *

Sherlock was sitting in the kitchen when John walked out of the shower, clad only in a towel wrapped around his waist. Sherlock disregarded the paper he was reading and followed John into the bedroom.

“John.” Sherlock said once inside the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

“Mhm?” John said, turning around. At the sight of his almost naked body, Sherlock’s eyes widened, his cheeks flushing. John noticed and blushed too.

“I…” Sherlock started. He really wanted to go further but didn’t know if John wanted to at the moment.

“Sherlock…” John said, licking his lips. “Fuck it.” He muttered, walking swiftly towards Sherlock, smashing his lips onto Sherlock’s emitting a startled but enthusiastic groan from the latter. They tasted each other, John’s hands in Sherlock’s curls and on his neck, Sherlock’s hands coming to wrap around John’s waist.

            Sherlock moaned and slightly broke apart. “You want to…?” Sherlock mumbled.

“Yes” John said. “I need to. I just need to cum with you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” John said, his voice not shaking one bit as he moved a hand towards Sherlock’s clothed cock.

Sherlock moaned at the touch and resumed kissing John, his lips growing red and swollen. Their kisses turned enthusiastic quickly, and soon enough John had dropped his towel and moaned at the feel of Sherlock’s hands clutching his naked arse.

“Oh, fuck, Sherlock.” John mumbled against Sherlock’s lips.

Sherlock nipped at John’s lips in return, and then moved his lips along his jaw, down his neck and stopped at his shoulder. He began licking and sucking while he moved his hands along John’s backside. He was already loving John’s naked body and wanted to see him more. After a clear love bite, Sherlock pulled back, and looked into John’s eyes.

“I want to make you cum.” He said, his voice rough with arousal.

“Yes.” John nodded quickly before he began unbuttoning Sherlock’s shirt. Once the removed the shirt he moved to Sherlock trousers and soon enough Sherlock was completely naked, goose bumps forming on his skin as he was looked at by John.

John’s face softened into a look of true admiration and he softly kissed Sherlock’s lips before pulling Sherlock down onto the bed with him.

The two men gasped at the feeling of each other’s skin against their own and as Sherlock rutted against him, John arched his back, his head into the pillow as his arousal bloomed within him.

“Oh, fuck Sherlock.” He moaned, sliding a hand in between them, taking hold of both their cocks and in unison, the two began rocking. They rolled their hips and kissed messily as pleasure erupted between them.

“John.” Sherlock began mumbling, burying his face into the juncture of John’s neck. 

“Come with me Sherlock…I’m close.” John whispered.

It was soon after that the two men came with each other’s names on their lips.

After they rode out their orgasms, Sherlock remained on top of John, uncaring of the sticky mess between them. He rested his head right below John’s chin and listened as John’s heartbeat began to slow back to normal. John was stroking through Sherlock’s hair and was humming in pleasure when there was a sound from downstairs.

“A client.” Sherlock said, a slight annoyance in his tone.

John scoffed. “Shouldn’t you be jumping off the walls?” He said teasingly.

Sherlock looked up at John. “I…I like where I am now.” He said innocently.

John looked down at him, his cheeks flushing deeper than it already was. “I do too. But we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

Sherlock huffed but he reluctantly got up anyway.

Once the two were dressed and their appearances put together more professionally, Sherlock stopped before walking out of the bedroom.

“Can we…can we do this again?” He asked, hesitantly.

“Of course. I’d love to…go further with you.” John said, smiling up at Sherlock, trying very hard not too blush.

Sherlock smiled, and then smirked. “You know you blush a rather lot.”

John’s smile grew bigger. “I know. And it’s all fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated : )


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock woke up to a rather unfortunate feeling. Blinking in the dark, his nose stinging, he looked at the sleeping figure next to him and it suddenly became apparent to him that John was having a nightmare. Swiftly, Sherlock turned the light on and began eyeing John. He was sweating slightly, turning his head to the side. His face was contorted as if he was in pain and with no warning, a hand shot up and the next thing Sherlock knew was that he was now on the on his back on the floor, the side of his head hurting. It was then he realised he was woken up from John’s smacking him in then nose.

“John…” Sherlock spoke quietly, watching John, who had turned over, curling up in a ball.

“John.” Sherlock said, more clearly, standing up, placing a hand onto John’s shoulder. “John, you need to wake up.” He spoke, ready for another hit but relaxed slightly when he noticed John’s breathing was slowing down, his body relaxing.

“John.”

“Mhmm?” John groaned quietly, rubbing his face. “Sh’lock?’ He turned to Sherlock, his face wet. “I…”

“Its alright John. You were just having a nightmare.”

“I…I know.” He replied, his voice shaking as a few tears leaked out of his eyes.

“John?” Sherlock said, moving towards him on the bed.

John didn’t answer but covered his face in his hands as he began to cry.

Sherlock, startled by the sudden emotional state John was in, froze. John’s breathing became unsteady again, his body shaking.

“John..” Sherlock said again, at lost on what to do.

“Fuck, Sh’lock.” John mumbled, his voice coarse. “I’m sorry…” He hiccupped.

“John, its alright-oof” Sherlock started, falling onto the bed, with John clutching him in a tight hug.

“John-” Sherlock tried to speak, but John was lying on top of him, their nakedness completely ignored, and he was clutching at him rather tightly.

The two stayed like that, John on top of Sherlock as he began to calm down, slowly drifting back asleep.

When he woke again, it was because Sherlock was trying and failing to climb out of bed.

“Sh’lock?” John said, his voice rough from sleep.

Sherlock froze. “I…I just need to get-” he paused as John squirmed, brushing his body against Sherlock’s half-hard cock.

“I…”

“Oh.” John said, looking down in between their bodies.

“I can just…take care of that…in the bathroom.” Sherlock said, trying to sit up only to be held down by John.

“I can take care of it.” John sputtered out. “I mean…if you want me to.”

“I…do you want to?”

John nodded, his cheeks turning pink.

“Are you sure?” Are you okay now? You did have a nightmare…”

“I’m fine now Sherlock.” He said, a small smile growing on his face. “Please. I want to”

Sherlock blushed as John rocked his hips against Sherlock’s, his nearly full hard cock brushing John’s. He nodded, and John smiled widely this time, his eyes gleaming with…relief? Sherlock wasn’t sure but any thoughts he would’ve had disappeared as John’s kissed Sherlock’s lips very quickly before sliding down, kissing down Sherlock’s torso. 

Soon John had reached Sherlock’s cock and began licking and sucking the head, causing Sherlock to emit rather loud moans. He quickly placed a hand over his mouth but John looked up and said, “I…I would like to hear you.”

Sherlock’s eyes blew wide and he removed his hand as John resumed. He sucked the head of Sherlock’s cock, and then he swallowed down, moving his hands, one to clutch Sherlock’s thighs and the other to massage his balls. Sherlock was squirming completely now, moans of pleasure escaping his mouth. He moved his hands down, grasping John’s hair, stroking and pulling it, which caused John to moan loudly, the vibrations moving through Sherlock.

“John.” Sherlock suddenly blurted out, roughly pulling at John’s hair.

John didn’t stop though and then Sherlock was coming into John’s throat.

As Sherlock rode through his orgasm, John pulled off, wiping his red lips and moved upwards over Sherlock’s body, kissing Sherlock’s neck.

“Oh…John.” Sherlock hummed, turning his head to capture John’s lips with his own, tasting himself mixed with John. They swirled their tongues together for a bit until John pulled off, a slight grimace on his face.

“We need to brush our teeth.”

“Mhm, that’s boring.”

“Seriously Sherlock. Lets brush our teeth and you can take care of this for me in the shower.” He said, placing Sherlock’s hand onto his erected cock.

Sherlock’s cheeks somehow turned more red, and he swiftly followed John into the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff I know, but I needed some cheering up and so now that we have had some sex, I will try to continue on with some more angst maybe? I've been sort of stuck in a writer's block, not knowing exactly where to go with this but I will try very hard to update more regularly.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have added a few tags and also I am not an expert in therapy or in PTSD treatment; the following is just what I imagined would happen.

Sherlock would never admitted it, but it took him a bit longer than usual for him to notice that something was wrong with John. He realised it happened with the first nightmare followed by the enthusiastic oral sex. Then it happened when John had fallen asleep on the sofa, woken up in a sweat from a nightmare, only to pounce onto Sherlock, resulting in them rubbing each other off in a blurring of limbs and clothing. Then it happened for a third time when Sherlock woke John up before he could punch him again in his sleep, followed by a heated snog, then John getting Sherlock off by fucking him with his tongue. And it continued to happen over two weeks. The increase in a very sexual John was very welcomed by Sherlock, but then he realised why John was initiating sexual acts and that’s what brought him to sitting in his chair, waiting for John to come home from the grocery store.

He didn’t have to wait much longer when he heard the soft click of the front door, followed by the very distinct footsteps of John, carrying two—no three—bags of groceries.

“Ah, hello John,” Sherlock said, pretending to be dismissive.

John’s eyes widened brightly, his smile growing at Sherlock as he walked to the kitchen. He sat down the groceries gently, took off his jacket, turned the kettle on and then walked to his chair, sitting down in front of Sherlock.

Sherlock, confused slightly by John’s cheerful demeanor, narrowed his eyes back at John.

The two stared at each other for a few moments before Sherlock finally spoke.

“Something’s wrong.” He stated.

“No, I think everything’s fine.” John said, his relaxed face contouring into more confused.

“You are acting cheerful.”

“I…” John started, confused now completely evident on his face and in his tone. “I’m happy if that’s what’s concerning you.”

“No no no,” Sherlock said, waving a hand. “I like it when you’re happy John. But you’ve acted…odd recently. Almost too enthusiastically.”

“Too enthusiastically.” John repeated back.

“You…” Sherlock cheeks reddened slightly at the memories. “You have been much more…sexual in the past few weeks.

John grinned. “I know. I don’t see how that’s concerning.”

“But although you and I have done…sexual acts quite a bit in the past few weeks, whenever you have a nightmare, you immediately initiate one. And I want to know why.”

“I…” John’s smile faltered before completely turning into a frown. “I…I like to be close with you Sherlock…”

“Are you aware that you are initiating them?”

“I don’t understand.” John lowered his head.

Sherlock started, and then he knelt on the ground, in front of John’s knees.

“John?”

“Mhm?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to upset you but I think you haven’t been dealing with the nightmares the best way and I think we should work together to do that.”

John looked at Sherlock, his eyes glistening. “Sherlock I…” He paused, swallowing. He cleared his throat. “I have had nightmares for a while now Sherlock and what I found to prevent any panic attacks from happening is if I…get close with you. The sex sort of just happened. And I enjoy it. I thought you did too.”

“I do John, but I… I called your therapist.”

“You what?” John’s eyes widened.

“I called your therapist.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Now, there’s no reason to get angry John, but she and I both agree you shouldn’t participate in anything sexual shortly after having a nightmare. You need to talk to someone about them and I agree. So from now on, you can either talk to me, or your therapist.”  Sherlock blurted out.

“I…” John swallowed, his voice shaking slightly. “I can talk to you but I don’t need your pity or your-“

“Come here John.” Sherlock stood up quickly, dragging John behind him towards the sofa. He laid down, bringing John with him, so that Sherlock was on his sofa, John on his body, chest to chest, his head resting over Sherlock’s heartbeat.

“Will this help?”

“I…yeah I think it could.”

Sherlock nodded, threading his fingers through John’s hair as John began speaking, unsure at first. He told Sherlock about his nightmares about the war. Soon the two were relaxed, John slowly falling asleep.

It was well into evening when Sherlock woke up to John fidgeting. Looking down, John’s face was contorted as if he was in pain, and Sherlock gently loosened his grip on John, stroking his hair.

“John.” He said firmly.

John mumbled, his face relaxing slightly as his eyes blinked open.

“Sh’lock?”

“John. Its alright.”

John sat up abruptly, his breathing ragged.

“John.”

“Sherlock…” His voice shook and before Sherlock could react, John was on top of him, their lips crushed together. John’s left hand was treading itself through Sherlock’s hair as his right hand slide in between them, stroking Sherlock’s clothed cock.

“John!” Sherlock tried shouted, pulling back, his arms coming up to John’s shoulders, pushing him gently but firmly back.

“John, no that’s not what we should do.”

“Sherlock please.” John said, wiping his face. He didn’t look broken, or scared, but sad and Sherlock didn’t want to see that look on his face ever again.

“John, we shouldn’t. Just tell me about it.”

John shook his head, his lips quivering. He wasn’t crying, his eyes practically dry, but his forehead was gleaming with sweat, and his body was slightly trembling.

“I don’t want to talk about it Sherlock…not again.”

Sherlock stared, unsure what to do.

“Why do you want to...why did you kiss me then?”

“I…I just don’t want you to leave.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I don’t know Sherlock! I don’t know…” John snapped, shoving himself off of Sherlock and swiftly walking to the bathroom, slamming the door.

“John!” Sherlock ran after him and nearly hit his face on the slammed door. “John!’ Sherlock banged on the door. “John, open up, please, just let me in.” He rattled the doorknob but it was locked.

“Sherlock just…go away.”

“No John. Let me in.”

John opened the door and clutched at Sherlock’s shirt, pushing him against the wall.

“Do you know _why_ I kiss you and initiate sex after a nightmare? Because if I focus on you and on pleasuring you then I will forget the nightmare. I’ll forget the blood, and the screams and I always am able to sleep afterwards. I know that’s not what I should do, but it’s all I _can_ do.” He sucked in a breath, which caused him to cough violently.

“John…”

“Sher-” John tried speaking again, but he continued to struggle to breathe. His grip on Sherlock’s shirt loosened so Sherlock gently lowered him down. When the two were on the floor, John’s breathing was uneven, a few tears streaming down his cheek.

“Sherlock.” John finally spoke, embarrassed and angry. He leaned forward, resting his face on Sherlock’s shoulder.

The two sat in the awkward embrace for a few minutes, before John’s breathing was completely even and relaxed and he stood up with Sherlock.

“I’m sorry-” he started.

“Its alright.”

“I’ll go see the therapist again.”

“You will?”

John nodded. “I will. But I…I need…”

“What do you need John?”

“I need you to come with me.”

“Oh, alright, I will.”

* * *

Sherlock and John made their way to the therapist office the next morning. John was nervous, his hands sweating beneath the gloves he wore. Sherlock’s hand in his was the only thing holding him, preventing him from walking the other way.

Once there, the two were seated in the waiting room and soon they were in the office of John’s therapist.

“How are you John?” She asked. She was told that Sherlock would attend the session but wouldn’t speak unless asked to. Sherlock sat next to John, their hands clasped together.

“I’m fine.” John simply stated.

She quirked an eyebrow. John huffed and looked away. “I’ve been having nightmares. And I…I don’t deal with them properly.”

“What do you do after waking from a nightmare?”

“I…I initiate sex with Sherlock.”

“And do you think that is the best thing to do?”

John didn’t answer.

“John.” She said, urging him calmly to answer.

“I like sex. It…it makes me feel good knowing I can…make others-Sherlock-feel good.” He said, blushing. “And it makes me forget.” He said, sort of as an afterthought.

“Forget what?”

“The nightmares.”

“Do you have sex at other times, when you have not woken up from a nightmare?”

“Sometimes. Not as frequent, but we did sort of experiment…but the sex after a nightmare is more…simple. It’s more focused on pleasuring each other than just experimentation.”

“Do you like experimenting?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you think Sherlock enjoys the sex after a nightmare?”

“I…I’m pretty sure he does.” John said, blushing. He looked over at Sherlock, who briefly nodded.

“Why do you initiate sex after a nightmare?”

“Because it makes me forget. I already said that.”

“Why don’t you initiate sex other times?”

“I don’t know.”

“John. Do you think you’re initiating sex at inappropriate times?”

“No I don’t but Sherlock thinks so that’s why we’re here.”

“You agreed to come here John!” Sherlock blurted out.

“I did to make you happy.”

“John!” Sherlock started, but stopped at the look on the therapist’s face.

“Say that again John.” She said calmly.

“Say what? I…agreed to come here…to make you happy?” John thought aloud, confused.

“You agreed to come to therapy to make Sherlock happy?”

“I…yeah.”

“Do you initiate the sex to make him happy?”

“Yeah, that’s what I like about sex.”

“Sherlock,” The therapist looked at him, “does John focus more on you, or himself during sex?”

Sherlock’s face grimaced slightly. “Me.”

“And does he ever climax when he initiates?”

“Not all the time.” Sherlock paused, averting his gaze away. “Sometimes he lets me fall asleep after I’ve come. I had first assumed he just finished himself off, but when I woke up, he’d initiate it again, and become hard rather quickly.”

“John,” the therapist turned back to him. “Do you think you initiate sex to make Sherlock happy so he’ll stay with you?”

John scoffed. “Of course not, I…” His face suddenly contoured into a look of worry. “I…”

“Do you ever stop during sex? Ever communicate about things you like or don’t like?”

“I…no…”

“Have you continued to do sexual acts that you are not comfortable with but continue them to make Sherlock happy?”

John’s eyes widened slightly, and he looked away. He nodded.

“John!” Sherlock said suddenly, surprised and upset.

“Sherlock I…I’m sorry.” John whispered, keeping his gaze away.

“When?” Sherlock said, angrily. “When were you uncomfortable but didn’t tell me?”

John swallowed. “The handcuffs. And when we did it on the sofa.”

“You…you had initiated it John! You were in control! We could’ve moved. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you’d get mad.”

“I…no I wouldn’t John!”

“John.” The therapist interrupted.

John and Sherlock looked up.

“Have you ever been in a relationship where you lacked control?”

John nodded, knowing exactly where this was going.

“When was it?”

“Just after I graduated university, before I signed up for the army.” He whispered.

“Was it abusive?”

“Not really…”

“John.”

“Alright, it was. He’d hit me when I wouldn’t want to have sex a certain way and he’d call me names. I ended it after he broke my wrist. I wasn’t just letting it happen.” John said angrily, wiping a few tears away.

“Sherlock, did you know?”

Sherlock, upset but trying hard not to show it, shook his head. He reached over gently and took John’s hand in his and squeezed lightly. To Sherlock’s relief, John squeezed back and kept his hand there.

“When you initiate sex John, do you do it to prevent Sherlock from leaving?”

John nodded slightly. “I thought the nightmares would be a sign of weakness…”

“Alright. Over the next two weeks, I want you two not have sex. If you have a nightmare John, I want you to talk about it, in detail, to Sherlock. Find other ways to connect as well.”

The two men nodded and slowly made their way out.

* * *

“John.” Sherlock started as soon as they entered their flat.

John looked up at him, after having sat himself down on the sofa.

“Do you want some tea?”

He nodded.

When the tea was made, Sherlock brought it over and the two sat together.

“John,” Sherlock started. “I want to help, but I need you to tell me if I’m helping or not. Promise?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Would you like to come with me to Scotland Yard? Lestrade texted, there’s a case he wants me to look at.”

“Are you sure? I don’t know if I can be of much help…”

“Of course you can John. I’d like for you to come along. Plus the therapist did say we should connect…”

“I guess, if you think you could use me…”

“John, I want you to be sure.”

“I…I am sure I just…”

“What, what is it?”

“Do we have to go now? I’m kind of hungry.” He said, looking up at Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled slightly. “You can eat of course John.”

John smiled back and then made his way into the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated : )


	10. Whatever we deny or embrace, for worse or for better, We belong together

Once John had finished eating, he and Sherlock made their way to Scotland Yard. Sherlock could sense John was feeling unsure, but with a nod of reassurance from him, Sherlock continued on.

Once at Scotland Yard, John found himself surrounded by noise and people, and he was beginning to feel unease. Sherlock was bickering with the detective inspector— _Lestrade was it?—_ and even though John thought he should pay attention to what Sherlock was going on about, the words he heard thrown at the detective were getting on his nerve.

“Why is the freak here?” He heard first from a curly-haired woman.

“Piss off freak!” He heard somewhere else.

“Why is _he_ here?”

“What a freak! He’s the reason my relationship ended!”

The rudeness was not what John expected from professionals, and the cold expression on Sherlock’s face was beginning to upset him. He knew Sherlock could be blunt and cold to others, but its not as if these people were nice to him to begin with.

The constant stream of abuse was getting out of hand now and John stepped forward, tapping Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Sherlock?” He said quietly. The DI glanced at him as Sherlock continued on ranting about some bad photographs being taken at a crime scene.

“Sherlock.” John said again.

Sherlock spun to him, stopping in mid-sentence.

“What is it?” He asked, alarmed by John’s face.

“Its just…” John leaned up to Sherlock’s ear. “Why do you work for these people when they aren’t treating you very nicely…?” He whispered so only Sherlock could hear.

He pulled back to see Sherlock’s face go through a series of emotions. First he was smirking, then he was genuinely worried, and then a small smile formed on his face.

“Its all right John. I’m used to it.”

“But you shouldn’t be!” John blurted out in a rushed whisper. “I…I don’t like what they’re saying about you.”

Sherlock looked surprised and couldn’t form an immediate response to that.

“You—” he started, “You actually care.” He stated.

“Well, yeah.” John said, confused. “I don’t really understand why you continue to work for them.”

“John. I enjoy working cases.” Sherlock responded. “Lestrade is the only detective inspector who can stand me. I like the puzzle and waiting for clients isn’t ideal. For Mrs. Hudson, the flat, and now for you.”

“For me?” John asked, furrowing his brow.

“You like adrenaline, evident in the last case. If I just took cases from clients then you’d be at the flat while I sulked and then neither of us would be happy—”

“I’m happy just being with you.”

Sherlock stuttered, his cheeks blushing. “I—I’m happy with you too. But John, you don’t need to worry, these people are just idiots who desperately need my help.”

John thought for a moment, and the nodded.

Sherlock looked over at John once to make sure he was indeed alright, and then turned back to Lestrade.

Within 5 minutes later, Sherlock was rushing out, John behind him.

“Where are we going?” John asked.

“Baker Street. I need to look over some things.”

“Do you have a case?”

“We do, John. We have a case.” He said over his shoulder, smiling.

* * *

Sherlock spent an hour over the images of the crime scene and came up with one conclusion.

“Anything I can do?” John asked.

“Where’s your gun?”

“Er, under the bed I believe.”

“Get it. We may not need it, but its always good to be prepared.”

John carried his gun into the kitchen, handing to Sherlock.

“No, you, put it under your jumper.”

“Er, are you sure?”

“Of course.” Sherlock said, pulling on his coat.

John hesitated, then clicked the safety on, checked to make sure it was loaded, and then placed it in the waistband under his jumper. He then followed Sherlock out of the flat.

“Where are we going?” John asked once they were in a cab. It was getting dark, the streets busy with people heading home from work.

“Carl Kent’s place. His wife was found murdered in their backyard. Nothing was taken from the house, but the front door had been broken down. Seems like an attempted burglary gone wrong. But footsteps found around the body are practically identical to Kent’s.”

“Does he have an alibi?”

“He does. It’s strong; he was working in his study with a student. Going over a past exam.”

“But?”

Sherlock smirked, glad John was following.

“But, although the student can count for Kent’s alibi, its flawed. He was having an affair with Kent. Kent wanted a divorce, but his wife wanted to work things out. So he killed her, made it look like a burglary gone wrong, told the student to lie for him. Promised him a passing grade.”

“That’s terrible. So, we’re going to…?”

“Inform him of course.”

“The professor?”

“Yep.”

John paused, confused. “Why didn’t you tell Lestrade?”

“Oh, well, I need to see if the professor’s shoes actually match the footprints obviously. They’re the same size but I need to see if he still kept the shoes. There would probably be mud on them along with some blood.”

“So...you’re breaking into his home.”

“Yep. Come along John.” Sherlock said, jumping out of the cab, a few houses a way from their intended destination.

“Sherlock.” John whispered, following him swiftly. The street was practically empty, a few homes dark and others with a light or two on.

Sherlock made his way to the side door of the house, and pulled out his lock picking tools.

John, feeling calm, was about to speak when Sherlock unlocked the door and proceeded in.

The two men quietly made their way through the dark house. Soon, Sherlock made a triumphal noise.

“Found something?” John whispered, his hand wavering to the gun tucked in his waistband.

Before Sherlock could show John, a blurry of movement happened, and time seemed to have slowed down.

Sherlock was pulled upwards by Carl Kent, a small knife in one hand. A light was turned on. A swift movement and the next thing that happened, a gun was being pulled out and then there was a gunshot.

It was over so fast. Carl Kent was kneeling on the floor, moaning in pain, clutching what was left of his hand; Sherlock was standing up, texting Lestrade. John still had his gun out, pointed at Kent, his breathing rather even for having just shot someone.

After Sherlock finished, he walked over to John.

“John.” He said calmly.

John looked up, his face relaxing a fraction.

“Its alright. He’s not going anywhere.”

John breathed out and then calmly lowering his gun, clicking the safety back on.

* * *

Lestrade was seething at Sherlock as Sherlock calmly explained what happened, ‘forgetting’ the part of them breaking in. John stood by, calmly watching the officers do their job.

“What the hell?” A voice appeared from behind him. He turned, seeing some officers heading towards Lestrade.

“What’s that freak done now?!” One yelled.

John didn’t think twice about what he did next. He walked swiftly up to the officers. “Oi!” he said. “Don’t call him that!”

The officers, surprised, remained speechless as Lestrade and Sherlock looked on, shocked.

“He just solved you a case. Now you have a murderer alive and in custody.” John continued.

The officers didn’t know what to do, so they scurried as Sherlock walked towards John.

John looked away. “I’m sorry, its just...its not what they should be saying.”

“Thank you.” Sherlock said. “For reacting so…smartly.”

“When did I …”

“You were able to take Kent down. I could’ve been injured and you stopped that from happening. So thank you.” Sherlock said, quietly.

John looked up. “You don’t normally say ‘thank you’ do you?

“What makes you say that?”

“Because, you look unsure. As if you, the great Sherlock Holmes, are uncertain about something. But don’t worry about it, Sherlock. I’ll always be there for you.” John said confidently.

“I…” Sherlock blushed. “And I for you.”

John smiled and tilted his head. Sherlock took the hint and leaned forward, placing his lips on John’s, hard enough to emit his promise. That whatever happens he’ll be there for John, as he is for him.

The two broke apart, and without a need to speak, turned around, hand in hand, and made their way home.

 

Lestrade watched the two men walk away as an officer walked next to him.

“How can someone courteous be with someone so…discourteous.” They said.

Lestrade looked on, and merely replied. “They just…belong with each other.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed this : ) it was difficult at times but as I was writing this chapter I felt I could end it here and it would be fine and I think it is. 
> 
> I am currently writing a much longer fic that takes place after reichenbach (not to do with this story at all) and will begin publishing that soon, so subscribe if you want to be notified : )

**Author's Note:**

> my tumblr: heavenlymindpalace.tumblr.com : )


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